by Ron Ripley
“The boss has us going to pick up her trail,” Ike said.
“You be careful,” Alex said sternly, looking first at Ike and then at Ken. “Do you understand?”
Ken could only nod, and Ike did the same.
“I was with Gus the last time in fifty-two. She ignored us completely. Just focused on the resident,” Alex said. His voice dropped slightly. “We would have been dead too if she’d wanted it.”
“We’ll be careful, Alex,” Ken said.
“We will,” Ike said. “We’ll call in every half an hour to let you know how it’s going.”
“Good. Thanks,” Alex said. “Be quick and be safe. Call if you see anything. Hear anything. Hell, you smell something you call me.”
“Will do,” Ken agreed. He and Ike left the guardhouse and turned on their radios as they started to walk towards the far right of the grounds. The maintenance building was off near the back, a short distance from the tree line. All of the roads and paths had been cleared, even the path which ran the entire perimeter of the populated part of the grounds. Paths and forestry roads ran through the woods, but they were left alone until spring.
And they didn’t have to look in the forest, from what Ken gathered.
The Dog would hunt among the residents.
He and Ike walked in silence, the sound of their feet in the cold air seemed to echo loudly off of the buildings. When they reached the short, squat maintenance building, only the exterior light was on. The men had punched out and left earlier. Clint, the second shift supervisor, lived on the campus and could respond to any emergency which might occur during third. Ken felt the urge to call the man in and have him ready to help.
He wanted everyone to be ready to help.
But it wasn’t practical.
There were still plenty of employees who felt Middlebury was strange, but not haunted. People who believed the curious occurrences were the natural result of having so many mentally disturbed individuals in one place.
Those were mostly first-shifters, though. People who couldn’t imagine anything extraordinary being attached to the sounds or sights or shapes they saw. Second-shifters had a better understanding of how the Sanitarium worked but no one understood it as well as the third-shifters did.
Third shift either made a man or broke him.
The third shift was all volunteers. A few had been sent to third as punishment, but then they had decided to stay when they understood the danger facing the residents. These unfortunate people didn’t have to really fear the doctors or staff, although occasionally untrustworthy folks had to be put down. No, they only had to worry about the dead.
And for someone who was already suffering from some sort of mental ailment, it was more than enough.
No, third shift was a special place. Third-shifters were a special group of people.
Ken felt all of them should have been told.
“There,” Ike said, pointing and interrupting Ken’s train of thought.
Ken followed the line of Ike’s finger and saw giant paw prints in the snow.
The tracks started immediately as if the Dog had materialized out of nothingness.
Perhaps it had, Ken thought.
He and Ike passed through the snow to the thin, cleared trail. The Dog’s prints ran alongside it. Towards the crematorium and the boneyard. They turned on their flashlights and played the beams over the tracks. Silently Ken and Ike followed them, past the cemetery and its gates and its headstones. Past the dark and cold incinerator. The prints and tracks continued.
Soon they were far from the buildings and the air grew colder. Snow started to fall, and an unnatural stillness settled over the Sanitarium.
A figure appeared on the trail ahead.
It looked to be a woman.
The person stood with her back to them, and they slowed their pace down.
“Hello,” Ike said, his voice coming out surprisingly gentle.
The woman turned around.
She wore a flannel robe and light pink pajamas. Her feet were clad in house-slippers, her brown hair clipped short. Her face was free of makeup, and she looked at them with a bemused smile.
Ken saw the snow build up on her shoulders and head and face. When she smiled, the snow fell to her breast.
“She’s dead,” Ken said softly to Ike.
“Yes,” Ike said with a sigh. Louder, he said to the woman, “Do you need any help?”
“No,” the woman replied, her voice sounding as if she was speaking underwater.
“Are you out for a walk?” Ken asked her.
“Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “Yes I am, Kenneth.”
His name on her lips sent a cold chill along his spine.
“The Dog is here,” she said, looking at the dog’s tracks which ran along the trail. The woman smiled at Ike. “She’s come for her pound of flesh.”
“Do you know where she’s taking it from?” Ike asked.
“Yes.”
“Will you tell us?” he said.
“No,” the woman answered.
Ken’s shoulders slumped.
“I’ll take you there, though,” she said. “Yes. The King requests I do.”
Ike stiffened. “The King?”
“The King.” She nodded happily. “Septimus Rex.”
She turned and started along the path. She stayed a dozen yards ahead of them, and Ken and Ike let her keep the distance.
For another ten minutes they walked. Each step carried them farther from the last of the lit buildings.
“Oh Christ, look, Ken,” Ike said, pointing with his flashlight.
At the far edge of the field, a man ran through the snow. Laughter, short and sweet and mad, rolled back to them.
The dead woman vanished.
The Dog appeared out of the shadows.
She was huge. A massive, black German Shepherd the size of a pony. She seemed to fly along the snow, kicking it up behind her with each thrust of her legs.
The man glanced back, saw her, and laughed harder as he ran.
Ken and Ike started to race towards the man. The unknown resident aimed himself at the forest, caught sight of Ken and Ike, and he laughed cheerfully.
His gleeful joy rang out even as the Dog struck him in the small of the back and sent him sprawling across the trail.
Ken could hear the man giggle over the Dog’s snarls. Ken heard the man over the sound of the man’s stomach being torn open.
Ike reached the pair half a step ahead of Ken and received a blow to his stomach from the Dog’s blood covered muzzle. Ike doubled over and vomited. Steam rose up from the bile as he collapsed onto his side and the flashlight shattered as it hit the frozen earth.
Ken dropped his own light and threw himself onto the Dog even as she buried her muzzle back into the pit of the man’s stomach.
“What a good dog!” the man said, tears of joy soaking his cheeks. “Do you see her? Do you see what a good dog she is?”
Ken ignored the man as he wrapped his arms around the Dog’s massive neck and started to squeeze. Her rough hair dug sharply into his face, and the man started to punch Ken’s forearms wildly.
“Leave her alone!” the resident shrieked. “She’s a good dog! Leave her be!”
The Dog tried to shake Ken free, but he squeezed harder. She howled angrily as she pulled her face out of the man’s guts. Innards and offal trailed from her teeth and her eyes rolled in their sockets as she tried to see Ken.
She took a few steps back and collapsed to her side. Ken bit back a scream of pain as his leg was slammed between her massive side and the snow covered earth. She sought to crush him under her weight, but Ken shifted his grip. Blood and drool splashed down on him, her breath fetid.
And Ike was there. He tried to help the resident, but the man threw a wild punch and connected with Ike’s nose. Blood exploded down Ike’s lips, and he glared down at the resident. He turned away from the dying madman to help Ken. But the wounded man grabbed a hold of his legs and pulled
him down.
Ken’s arms started to ache.
Christ, he thought desperately, I can’t let go.
The Dog seemed to understand the situation perfectly, and she rolled.
Ken buried his face into her neck and held on even as the air was knocked out of him. His bones groaned, and his arms ached, snow packed down around his neck and was so cold it felt as though his flesh had been set aflame.
When the Dog came back to her feet, though, Ken still clung to her.
The resident let out a laugh which ended in a brutal choke. Ike got free of the man’s bloody grip, and the Dog relaxed and sat down.
The madman was dead.
The Dog sat patiently and waited for Ken to let go.
He did so carefully. He eased away from her and stepped towards Ike. The Dog blinked as she looked from Ike to Ken. Her right ear twitched, and her nostrils flared. Her tail thumped the packed snow for a moment, and her ears perked up.
She tilted her head back to look up at the sky and let out a long, drawn out howl before she got on all fours. She looked at them once and then trotted off into the forest.
Ken looked at Ike and Ike looked at Ken.
“Ken,” Ike said in a low, confused voice, “I think the Dog just howled your name.”
Ken looked at where the Dog had gone and nodded.
The Dog had indeed howled, Kenneth.
Chapter 25: Difficulty Listening
Anne couldn’t stop herself.
She loved to listen to Brian speak. His voice was deep and strong, powerfully masculine in a way she never thought she would find attractive.
She liked the more feminine men. Slim builds. Scholarly. Men who cared about what they ate and how they dressed. Men who cared about the environment. Men her own age.
Single men.
Anne never fell for a married man. And even if she did, it wouldn’t be for a forty-year-old who looked like he could out drink and out smoke a frat house on any big ten campus.
She was falling for Brian, though.
Falling hard.
He even smells good, she thought as they sat at the dining table in Ken’s house.
No man smells good.
Brian did, though. Even when he was drinking coffee with whiskey in it at five in the evening. Brian smelled like a man ought to smell.
And Anne found she liked it.
A lot.
She felt terrible about it too.
Brian’s wife Jenny was a nice woman. Anne was all about women being united. All about females standing together and not trying to find out how another woman’s husband might feel like in the dark.
Okay, girl, she told herself. You need to rein these hormones in.
It was hard, though.
She had seen the way Brian looked at her. The way he tried not to look at her.
He was attracted to her.
And he was trying not to be.
The hours they had spent together during the day had been phenomenal, though. All the trashy, steamy romance novels she had read in junior high school flashed before her eyes. She pushed the unrealistic scenes back into the locked rooms of her preteen years and tried to focus on Ken.
Because even after the disturbing story about the giant, black German Shepherd she only wanted to see how well Brian kissed.
“So you’re ready for the library?” Ken asked.
“Yes,” Brian said. “I’d love to get it wrapped up today and be out of here tomorrow. I hope you’re not offended Ken.”
Ken chuckled and shook his head. “Not at all, Brian. I’m impressed you’re sticking it out. Most folks wouldn’t. Especially not after yesterday.”
“And this morning,” Brian said with a sigh.
“What about this morning?” Ken asked.
Brian told them both about a little girl with a stuffed animal.
She had walked with Brian to Anne’s car, but Anne had never seen her.
When he finished, Ken asked, “Was it a black and white terrier, the toy?”
“Yeah,” Brian said. “You know her?”
“Yes,” Ken said. “I don’t know her name, though. I know the toy’s.”
“The toy has a name?” Anne asked.
“Oh yes,” Ken said with a small smile. “Don’t all the best toys have a name when you’re a child?”
Anne smiled. “Yes. Yes, I guess they do. What’s the dog’s name?”
“Kenneth,” Ken said grimly. “The dog’s name is Kenneth.”
Chapter 26: The Library
The library was large, quiet, and full of books.
It was also warm.
Brian looked to Ken as the older man closed the door behind Anne.
“Hey Ken,” Brian said.
“Yes?”
“Why’s it so warm in here?” Brian asked.
Ken smiled. “They don’t like the cold.”
“Who?” Anne asked.
“The dead in this building,” Ken said, putting the hard-case he had carried up to a desk. “And since I’m not particularly fond of the cold either, I had a friend rig up a solar kit to help generate heat. I have absolutely no idea how it works, but it does.”
“No complaints here,” Brian said with a grin. He set the hard-case he carried beside Ken’s. Anne came and did the same. She gently brushed his arm as she passed by and Brian felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach.
What the hell? Am I back in high school? He asked himself. He took a deep breath and said, “Ken, is there a place you recommend we put any recorders?”
“Second floor, the Dr. Le Grande Psychology Room,” Ken said. “I would bring you up, but my mere presence antagonizes them. I usually come in, spend a few minutes finding a couple of books and leave. Are you both staying here tonight?”
“Yes,” Brian said, glancing over at Anne, who nodded. “That would probably be best unless the residents here are like Eleanor?”
“No,” Ken chuckled. “They get irritated, but they’re nothing like Eleanor.”
“Good,” Brian said, feeling himself relax. “Great, actually.”
“Well,” Ken said. “I’ll leave you to your work. I’ll check on you when I do my rounds.”
“Sounds great, Ken. Thanks again,” Brian said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you both a little later on.”
The older man left the library and closed the door tightly behind him.
“So,” Anne said, smiling at him. “Second floor?”
“Sounds good to me,” Brian said. “Let’s get the gear out.”
Together they opened the cases and removed the different video and audio recorders. They took out the power packs and wires, the laptops and boosters. They each took a pair of audio and video recorders and carried them up the main stairwell as they ran a bundle of cables up as well. The last of the evening light came in through tall windows and reminded Brian he needed to get the flashlights out.
The Dr. Le Grande Psychology Room was fair sized with a reading table against the far wall and between a pair of tall windows.
“This room’s really clean,” Anne said as they deposited the gear on the table.
“What do you mean?” Brian asked, looking around.
“No dust,” she said, laughing.
The sound filled the room and sent a thrill through him.
“Oh,” he said, grinning. “Yeah. I wonder if Ken dusts the place.”
“Probably,” Anne said. “His house is spotless. I’m impressed. A lot of people just don’t take care of their homes with so much dedication.”
“He’s a special kind of man,” Brian said, turning on the recorders. He positioned them on various shelves while Anne connected the power packs to them. In a few minutes, the room was ready to record.
Brian took a step back into the room’s center and said, “Testing. Testing one, two, three. This is an audio and visual.”
“All set?” Anne asked after he had stopped.
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Le
t’s go downstairs and make sure everything’s running through like it should.”
He led the way down to the first floor. They looked around for a few minutes and finally found a pair of chairs in a closed office. He and Anne dragged the chairs out to the desk and finished the equipment check and set up. They worked in silence for nearly half an hour and then Brian sat back in his chair.
He took his phone out to send Jenny a text and saw he didn’t have any reception.
“Anne,” he said.
“Yes?” she asked, looking up from the laptop.
“Do you have any reception on your phone?” he said.
She took her phone out of a pocket, unlocked it and frowned. She looked up at him. “No, nothing at all.”
“Me neither.” He put his phone away and tapped his fingers on the desk.
It's possible the snow from yesterday knocked out some towers somewhere, he thought. But his phone had worked after the storm when Anne had called him to see where he was.
Someone or something had decided to interfere with the phone.
Great.
Brian dug into his small gear bag, took out a small camping light and a Thermos of coffee along with a pair of paper cups. The coffee and cups had been provided by Ken. The light, a last minute addition when Brian had packed the equipment.
Brian turned the light on and set it on the desk. He put the Thermos and cups beside it.
“What do you think about the dog story?” Anne asked. She took off her gloves and put them on the floor next to her chair. She removed her hat and coat as well. Brian watched, fascinated as she ran her fingers through her hair.
“Um, the dog story?” he managed after a moment. “Well, I think it’s true.”
“Really?” Anne asked. “A dog almost sixty years old?”
Brian smiled at her. She had only seen Eleanor’s hand and the writing on the wall.
“This place is strange,” Brian said, the smile fading away. “Yesterday was rough. A lot of the dead showed up. The only evidence I captured, however, was Eleanor. I think the recording of her could easily be argued against, though.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised.
Brian nodded. “I’m certain someone would say we had help or a good editing program. Something. I don’t know if the State wants this sale to go through, or if the buyer really wants to buy it. Who knows. But I want to do the job right.”
